


The Fall From Grace

by BeforePeaceIsAStorm



Series: A Dance Between Worlds [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angel Adam Milligan, Angel Charlie Bradbury, Angel Ruby, Archangel Dean Winchester, Archangel Sam Winchester, Fallen Angel Dean Winchester, Fallen Angel Sam Winchester, Human Castiel, Human Gabriel (Supernatural), Human Michael, M/M, reverse verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 07:49:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17158103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeforePeaceIsAStorm/pseuds/BeforePeaceIsAStorm
Summary: Sam has fallen from grace, thankfully, someone is there to catch him, though now things are more complicated than ever. A rift between worlds, a not-so-hidden traitor and a sinister warning. Two fallen angels, a former angel, a pagan and three humans now face a race against the end of all things.Reverse!Verse





	The Fall From Grace

 

  
Fire trailed over the sky, dancing a sharp path through the night as it fell for earth. It landed with a crash, flames leaping for the sky one last time before beginning to die out, leaving a smoldering crater in its wake.

A house stood nearby, and from within a light flicked on, casting a welcoming glow over the surrounding area. The large crater lay just beyond the lights reach, the darkness deep enough to swallow any hints of the contents within.

The door swung open with a creak and a man came stumbling out, the white glow of his flashlight combatting with that of the golden tinted porch light. He shone it into the darkness like a beacon in the endless abyss, the light reflected off of nothing, falling just short of the trees and catching only wayward particles of dust. The man started towards the darkness beyond his reach, eyes narrowed in search for the source of the noise He stopped at the edge of the porchlight, he was just about to turn and head back inside to curse the local wildlife, when his flashlight caught the edge of the crater. ‘ _What the..._?’ He mouthed to himself, sharp blue eyes narrowing even further as he started towards it, slowly revealing more of the damaged earth.

Finally, he stopped at the mouth of the dip, flashlight aimed directly at what lay within.

In the middle of the crater lay a man, and curled around him were multiple pairs of russet brown wings, each charred and smoking, laced with hundreds of tiny bleeding scratches, a few larger, deeper gashes scattered throughout.

Michael cursed and picked his way down to the man, pressing the flashlight into his mouth so his hands were free to work, ignoring the sharp, metallic tang. He grabbed hold of the man's limp wrist, fingers deftly seeking out a pulse he prayed still existed.

One beat, two beat. Three.

Satisfied with the state of his heartbeat, Michael gently gathered him into his arms, lifting him with a single, swift motion. He was heavy, and the wings made things a little awkward, with feathers tickling his closed mouth, but he dragged him out anyways, knowing that it was likely he would die without immediate medical attention. Michael picked his way over loose stones, hauling the brunet into the light cast by the porch, taking the time to give him another once over. His wings were curled around him, and it was nearly impossible to tell the state of his injuries in the dark, but from the way he seemed to grow paler, even in the golden light, Michael had to guess they were bad. He kicked the door open, uncaring of any damage to the screen or metal, or whether it even closed behind him as he rushed to settle the winged man down on the couch.

The man slid onto the plush sofa with a faint groan, barely making it past his gently parted lips. Michael jogged up the stairs and into his bathroom, flipping open the medicine cabinet with ease, ignoring the blood that now stained the white paint of the first aid kit.

He sunk to his knees beside the man, laying the kit next to him within easy reach. He felt horrible, laying his hands on those battered wings, but they needed to move so that he could fully examine his current patient. He gently pried the feathered appendages away, careful to make sure he didn't accidentally sit on any feathers as he leaned forward, taking a nearby switchblade into his hand. He cut away the shirt that the male wore, pushing it aside and sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of his injuries.

He had many bruises, purple and blue decorated the entirety of his torso, and smattered in haphazardly were tons of scrapes and gashes. In the centre of it all, like some sick joke, was a large gaping hole. It had torn through his abdomen, and Michael could very clearly see a bluish-white mist leaking from within. Michael Kearney had seen many things in his lifetime, but this was by far the worst.

He cursed, reaching for the bottle of antiseptic, uncapping it with his teeth, before pouring it directly over the wound. Blood fell away, splattering over the floor and couch easily, not that Michael cared. He could get another couch from the shop, but unfortunately they didn't sell lives there.

He bathed the needle in it (not exactly made for stitches, but one couldn't exactly be picky) and tied off his wire. Without hesitation, he plunged the sharp object in, ignoring the slight whimper above him, and set to sewing the wound shut.

In total, seven injuries needed stitches, though nothing was fatal, thankfully. The stab had missed all of the vital organs, and so he set to swaddling his torso with thick, white bandages.

He examined the wings with more care, easily identifying the broken bone. He ended up making a makeshift sling for it, which he could tell the man didn’t appreciate.

He sighed, work finished for the time being, and set out for the store to get more bandages and antiseptic, along with a few pain pills.

  
Samael knew his surroundings before he even opened his eyes. He had long since learned to examine the world around him before ever giving signs of his wakefulness. His breathing remained even, and his eyes closed, yet he could tell plenty about where he was. He felt restricted, but not like he was tied down, more like… bandages…? It made sense, considering his last memory, but he could tell he was no longer in Heaven. There was no one around him, this he knew, and so he deemed it safe to open his eyes.

It took a moment to chase the blurriness of sleep from his mind, his sight hazy. He appeared to be in what he knew as a bedroom, the air warm and comforting. The walls were painted cream, dotted with a few pretty paintings and in the corner sat a plush, red chair. He blinked, turning to look down at himself, he was covered in thick, snowy bandages, and his left wing appeared to be in a sling.

The creak of a door echoed through the room, Sam’s head snapping up to meet it. A man stood in the archway, looking unsurprised to see him awake. “Awake then?” He asked, though Sam could tell it was what humans called a rhetorical question. Though he didn’t understand the point of asking a question in which you are not looking for an answer, he said nothing. “You’ve been asleep for three days.”

Sam blinked, three days he’d slept? That was quite a time for an angel, especially one such as himself. He could sense no ill intentions from the black haired man, so he deemed it safe to question him a bit. “Where am I?” He asked first, turning his gaze around the room, though he kept the rest of his senses honed on the man.

“My house, Bradbury, Minnesota.” He answered without an ounce of hesitation.

“Who are you? And who else knows of me?” He mustered, carefully shifting to better look at him.

“Just me, my name is Michael Kearney. I have told no one of your existence, your worries- while reasonable- are unwarranted.” He settled on the chair in the corner, leaning forward to steeple his long fingers beneath his chin, bright eyes holding a faint undertone of curiosity.

“I am surprised that you have not inquired about me, yet,” Sam found himself saying warily, it wouldn’t be good if this was one of his sisters ruses.

“I could say the same for you,” he raised a challenging eyebrow, “you know nothing about me.”

Sam gave a hum of agreement, but made no move to question him further. Even as weak as he was, this human wouldn’t be able to kill him without a proper blade, of which it would be nearly impossible for him to possess. Angels had not walked the earth in millennium, and one with a blade powerful enough to kill him in even longer.

“Are any of your injuries bothering you?” Michael asked eventually, standing from his position on the chair and moving to the door, clearly he expected it to be a no.

Sam furrowed his brows, focusing inward for a moment, “no, however, there is an odd discomfort in my mid-abdomen, it feels… like something is missing?”

Michael matched Sam's expression, thinking for only a few moments before he came up with a solution, “You're hungry, I’ll get you something to eat.” Sam blinked, watching the man disappear through the snow coloured door once more. Hunger, something that he had never experienced before, it was more of a human thing, and to be experiencing it now… he must be lower on grace than he originally thought.

Sam didn’t bother to try and stand, or leave or even sit up, he was content for the time being. Instead, he focused on centering his memories, bringing the painful flashes back to the forefront of his mind.

  
“ _Samael, we must hurry, the Northernmost gates are under attack.” Sam looked up, gaze bathed in shock. Heaven had long since won the battle between Itself and Hell, there was no other force powerful enough currently to launch an attack. He practically slid from his seat with the grace he utilized, eyes sharp and cold, prepared for battle._

_He followed his sister, Ruby, towards the source of the attack, throwing on random pieces of armour as they went. However, as they drew closer, an odd feeling stirred in his chest, and it was too late that he noticed the absence of fighting. They were on him like a pack of wolves, surrounding him before he even had the chance to draw his blade, wings flared and weapons at the ready. He was tossed around, each taking turns to cut and bruise him when he was passed to them, each moving too swift for him to even react._

_It was Ruby, once a trusted sibling who pulled him from the throes, her grin savage and gleeful._

_“Nighty, night, big bro,” She whispered into his ear, breath rolling hot and foul over his cold skin. The blade slid into his chest with no resistance, the sharp pain spreading out in a complex web, crashing like a powerful wave. It was hot, everything in him felt like fire, then the blade was gone, and she pushed him out of the gate._

  
Sam was snapped from his thoughts when Michael entered the room, holding what Samael recognized as soup.

“Here,” he offered, passing over the bowl as gently as he could, I presume that you understand how to eat this?” Sam nodded and- as if overtaken by something primal- began to hungrily shovel the warm liquid into his mouth, surprised when the discomfort in his stomach faded slightly.

“Careful, you would not wish to be sick. It is always best to eat slower.” He gave an odd smile, and Sam obliged, slowing his nutrient intake to a more reasonable pace, though he did not halt his larger bites, or the way his eyes tracked the other man's movements curiously, warily, even.

“Thank you,” he managed when his plate was finished, only the barest traces of yellow clinginging to the snowy ceramic. Michael took it with no fuss, and Sam did not see him any more before he fell into a deep sleep, dreams filled with the traitorous face of his murderous sister.

  
When Sam awoke again, it had officially been a week - though since what Michael never gave a clear answer.

“Come now,” Michael offered his arm, “it has officially been a week, you should now be able-bodied enough to stand and walk.” Sam assumed that he meant a week since he had been found by the man, though it could just as easily been since he last woke - Sam had no semblance of time in this tiny room. He took the offered limb with as brief a pause as he could manage, and used it to help himself stand, having already been seated by the ravenet. His wounds pinched and stretched, and it took more effort than he was comfortable admitting, but in the end, Sam was standing.

He loathed the weakness that came from him using Michael to stand, but even he could admit when help was required, a long acquired skill. He limped slightly, the stab effecting his left more than his right. He had little time to focus on his surroundings with the effort it took just to walk, and so he was quite startled when he was met by pure, undiluted sunlight. It was strange, the soft glow warmed his skin, accompanied by the rolling wave of a gentle breeze. The light was golden, painting the green landscape serenely, the towering oaks casting wispy shadows that shifted and moved. He let out a soft breath- something he found he was doing increasingly more often- and stepped from the restricting walls of the building. He had not been free, just relaxing in the nature his Father had created in a very long time, he spent most of his days in a stuffy office. Samael had not seen the garden in centuries, but he had to admit, this was almost just as beautiful.

It reminded him of Charlie, she had always been fascinated with the earth and humans, she had even left long ago to live amongst them, with a single request, plea, even: Don’t look for her. And he hadn’t, looked for her, that is. He kept his promise, had never sent parties to look for their missing sister, had told the others that had once loved her so, that she had died in battle. Charlie had been well-loved in Heaven, with her quick-wit and bright sense of humour, she had been especially popular with the fledgelings, and there had been many pained and broken faces when he announced the ‘news’.

He wondered now, where his wayward sister was, whether she was safe, or perhaps even dead.

“Hey,” He turned to look at Michael, haze broken. His face was soft, with a faint emotion resting there, something Sam had never seen with this odd, stone-faced human. “Would you prefer it if I took you inside?”

Sam shook his head, and steeled himself, he would need to face the outside world eventually, he could not hole up and cower about the betrayal.

They settled in the grass, and he refused the offer of being laid down, deciding he would much rather keep some of his dignity. His unbound wing stretched and fluttered, healed of the many scrapes and bruises that had previously littered it. The grass tickled slightly, worming its way between his sensitive primaries and straight to te skin underneath. He adjusted it until the grass no longer snaked through, and stretched out his legs. His left wing was still bound in a sling, though he could tell it wouldn’t be for much longer, the bone nearly mended with his swift healing.

“You should be able to remove that within the next few days,” Michael spoke up upon noticing the interest he held in his broken appendage.

Sam glanced up, “Oh?” He questioned, shifting to better face him. “And of my other injuries?”

Michael reached over- nearly startling Sam with the closeness- and peeled away the bandage slightly, just enough that he could catch a glimpse at the colouration and scabbing/. He hummed, scanning it for a few seconds before leaning away, leaving Sam feeling warm from the closeness, “the minor scrapes have already disappeared, but a few larger gashes should be gone by tomorrow. The stab, however, might not be fully healed for another couple of weeks.” He glanced back up, and Sam felt a bloom of curiosity growing in his chest. Those eyes were bright, unnaturally so, he had not noticed in the gloom of the bedroom, but now he did, they were practically glowing. Electric blue, they burned like an inferno, hot and sharp and powerful like an ocean.

He blinked, and they were back to normal, the eerie glow had dissipated, leaving behind normal, blue eyes.


End file.
